


Mind the Gap

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Future, Romance, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-03
Updated: 2005-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: After a few of the first episodes, Brian pushes Justin away.  Difference is, this time he listens.  Six years later, by chance, they're thrown back together, and their connection is stronger than ever.  If you wanna skip to the sex, this isn't the story for you.  If you like a slow, natural progression of a relationship, hopefully you'll enjoy this.  Eventual R, most likely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Author's notes: Okay, okay - this has been done before, I know. But for some reason, I couldn't get the idea out of my head this time. So out popped this. Hope you enjoy.

Dedication: To Mike and Ryan - for being sweet and hysterical, and for Mike sharing my love of QaF.

* * *

Justin was beginning to loathe gallery showings. Becoming a prominent member of the art community apparently meant that he was expected to attend galas for every other member. And Justin, being Justin, couldn't bring himself to turn down any invitation he recieved, so he ended up attending one nearly every other day. This current show was his own, but somehow even that didn't make it any more bearable. All of the attendees knew that he was the artist, so no one dared approach him, and he never got an honest opinion on his art. The ones that did approach him, meanwhile, were usually either drunkenly hitting on him or pompously rattling off a list of their own recent accomplishments.

To keep himself sane, Justin always wheedled Daphne or Trevor into coming. But tonight was Daphne's three-year anniversary with Kyle, and Trevor had to work, so he had been forced to bring his mother. Granted, he loved his mother, but having her along at one of these things rarely helped. She didn't know a thing about art, always pointed out the wrong type of guys, and chided him for drinking too much champagne, as if he were still sixteen instead of twenty-two.

Ignoring her clucking, Justin snagged another full flute from a passing waiter's tray. As he sipped it, he scanned the room. The artsy crowd was really a pitiful one, filled with girls in carefully torn black dressed and boys in baggy khakis and sloppy, paint-splattered t-shirts. Even Molly, who was finally making her transition from awkward and gangly to cute and girly, would look sophisticated in this crowd. But Molly had her first high-school dance tonight, so even she couldn't have taken her mother's place at Justin's side for the evening.

"Honey, what about him?" she was saying, directing his attention over to an older guy examining his feeble attempts at photography, done only at his agent's insistence. And while Justin did tend to go for men out of his age range, not only was this one not the slightest bit attractive, but he was also clearly straight. He set his mouth in a tight smile and informed his mother politely:

"Not my type." Her face fell momentarily, but then she continued looking. Justin bit back a sigh, wishing she would leave well enough alone. Okay, so he'd only had two significant relationships in his life - he couldn't help it if he was picky. But picky didn't change the fact that Ethan hadn't been right for him and Jack had been an asshole. Still, his mother - like any mother, he supposed - longed to see him settle down with someone, so she was constantly pushing him towards anyone she could find.

Justin was still disgustedly examining her latest choice when the tall blonde woman walked through the door. He only noticed her at all because she stopped to greet the gentleman at the photographs, but once he did, however, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. It was the oddest sense of deja-vu that had his eyes following her lithe figure all the way around the room, for he felt certain that he had me her somewhere before. As he was wracking his brain to recall where, the woman's male companion joined her, placing a hand at the small of her back as he murmured something in her ear, his lips curling in distaste. She giggled and shoved him away, and he turned, trying to avoid another jab of her elbow. It was then that Justin saw his whole face, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Oh my God," he muttered. His fingers tightened their grip on his champagne flute, until his knuckles turned white. His heart was hammering like he had just run a marathon, and his knees were quivering. "Oh my God," he repeated, a bit louder this time - loud enough that his mother caught the words.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked. When Justin didn't answer, she looked over, following her son's gaze to the attractive brunette in the Armani suit. Her eyebrows rose.

"Do you know him?" she asked, assessing his expression. Justin chuckled.

"He was my act of teenage rebellion," he answered over his champagne. Now it was Jennifer's turn to chuckle.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," she said. "I can recall quite a few acts of teenage rebellion in your past. Which one was this?"

"The first." Neither of them needed any more than this - it was a well-remembered incident. At the beginning, Justin had thrown the details of it in her face during any argument they had gotten into. But they had bypassed that stage long ago, and Jennifer was fully supportive of her son, in all aspects of his life. Yet there was something about finally seeing him - the man who took her son's innocence, his...well, his virginity - that made her throat clench. Meanwhile, Justin's own mind was in a whirlwind, although for a completely different reason.

"So that's Brian," Jennifer murmured.

"That's Brian," Justin agreed. Swallowing her discomfort, Jennifer looked him up and down. Slim build, bedroom eyes, hint of a swagger in his walk...typical bad boy. And just Justin's type. Despite the fact that Ethan had been young and fresh-faced, Jack older and distinguished, she was his mother - she knew that he went for the classic 'rebel without a cause' types. This was exactly the kind of man she would have pegged as the infamous Brian Kinney.

"He's very handsome," she observed. Still, there was something about him that she couldn't put her finger on. "Are you sure he's gay?" she murmured. Justin just smirked, and shot her a look. After twenty-two years, she had become quite adept at reading these looks, and this one clearly said, "Trust me, I was there." Rolling her eyes, she watched Brian press closer to the woman he was with, fingertips trailing down her bare arm. "Who's the blonde?" she asked Justin.

"His best friend," he answered. "She's a dyke."

"Justin!" she admonished. He hardly seemed to notice.

"He's like walking sex," he murmured, half to her and half to himself. "He'll flirt with anything on two legs, just because he knows they'll respond. He's got it all - looks, charm, money...you can't *not* be attracted to him. And he loves it. He gets off on being the center of attention." Jennifer frowned slightly, catching the hitch in her son's voice. 

"Justin, you don't still have feelings for him?"

"You never forget your first love."

~*~

When he was finally able to break away from his mother, Justin found Brian in a secluded corner of the exhibit. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. There were numerous paintings crammed into the area - a record of his love life, Max liked to call it, painted in a full range of colors and hues. Jack was an angry crimson, Ethan a cooler, friendlier green. There were others - some that he remembered, from their brief interludes, painted in muted tones. The ones whose names he couldn't even recall were in black and white, their features and body parts thin, almost fading. Every one of the paintings had appeared in shows before, but this was the first time he had put them all together. It was probably his favorite part of the exhibit, but because a majority of the pictures were very sexual, even the kinky art people shied away from it. It wasn't the most vanilla of areas. Even his mother hadn't been back here - she, like the others, seemed scared to be seen looking at pictures of two men touching, kissing.

Brian didn't.

It took a few minutes before Justin gathered the courage to approach Brian. After watching him study the paintings and downing yet another glass of champagne, he was ready to make his move. He had barely set down his empty glass, however, when Brian looked up, locking their gazes. It seemed like an eternity before the older man finally murmured:

"Hey."

"Hey," Justin returned, biting back a smile. What a very appropriately Brian response to the love-sick blonde who six years ago had been following his every move. Justin wasn't a fool - he knew Brian remembered him. But apparently this was how they were going to play it - like nothing had happened. Justin was okay with that, however. He wasn't a naive teenager anymore - he knew how to play the game and get what he wanted. That said, he was aware that Brian still affected him. All that meant was that he was going to have to play more carefully. Because this time, he was playing for real.

"You just gonna stand there?" Brian asked, breaking the silence. Justin smiled.

"I was thinking about it," he admitted, stepping into the corner, where the din of the other guests mulling about wasn't quite so audible.

"It's quite a collection you've got here," Brian said. Unable to help himself, Justin blushed, and hoped that the dimmed lighting would hide his skin's betrayal. Nevertheless, he took a few steps toward the brunette.

"Thanks," he said. "I like making the art. Showing it, on the other hand, going to these things every weekend...not my favorite thing to do."

"You know there's only one proper way to deal with assholes," Brian declared, and proceeded to pull a small silver flask from his pocket. He quirked an eyebrow, offering it to Justin. Smiling gratefully, the blonde took another step forward, so that he was intentionally invading Brian's space as he uncapped the flask, taking a deep swallow. It was vodka, which he hated, but he managed not to make a face - it was alcohol, after all.

"Oh man, I could use about fifteen more of those," he murmured. Brian laughed out loud, taking a swig for himself.

"You hate vodka," he stated. Justin reclaimed the flask, polishing off the last of it.

"Maybe I don't anymore," he said, immediately regretting how childish it sounded. But Brian's smile only grew, and he raised a finger to tap Justin's cheek.

"You're trying too hard," he informed, attempting to throw him off. But Justin just chuckled.

"After six years, you still remember that I hate vodka?" he tossed back. He knew that he had won this round, because Brian turned from him, moving over to the pictures on the wall. He was silent for a moment, then tapped the frame of the first painting in the series.

"How much is this one going for?" he asked. It was in panoramic view, the colors ranging from a white blur to an explosion of orange to a bright blue, then mellowing out and fading into a purplish hue, then ending abruptly with a stripe of black. Although there had been several encounters between the pair, Justin had smashed them all into one painting - the less time and paint spent dwelling on it, the better. To an outsider, even to someone who knew him, very few people Justin showed the painting to would have known it was meant for Brian. None of the paintings were particularly overt about their subjects, in fact - you just had to see deep inside them to know who they were truly about.

Brian knew.

"That one..." Justin fumbled for words. "That one's not for sale," he finally blurted out. Brian paused, then nodded.

"Too bad," he said. This time, he was the one who invaded Justin's space - an old trick in his book, and one that Justin was more than prepared for. He leaned his body towards Brian's, tilting his face upwards and giving every indication that he was meeting him thrust for thrust, parry for parry. Although to be honest, Justin's heart was beating a mile a minute, and he had no earthly idea what was about to happen next.

That question was swiftly answered, however, when the blonde woman Brian had arrived with - Lindsay, that was her name - swept into the secluded little space.

"Brian?" she called. Upon seeing her friend, pressed up against a small blonde, she cleared her throat, an amused and not at all surprised smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" Brian and Justin stepped apart, the younger man slipping the empty flask inside his coat as the older took his place at Lindsay's side.

"Right on time as always," he said with a false smile. Lindsay barely noticed, however - she had shifted her attention to Justin.

"Have we met?" she asked, frowning slightly as she struggled to recall. Justin hemmed and hawed for a few moments, searching for the most appropriate response. Finally, Brian stated:

"He's the kid from a few years ago that named Gus." Immediately, Lindsay's face lit up in recognition, and she extended her hand.

"Justin, right?" she said. "Oh, what a coincidence running into you here!" Justin opened his mouth to greet her in return, but suddenly, she put two and two together.

"Wait, you're Justin Taylor, aren't you?" she realized. "You're the artist. How could I forget, the showing at the GLC? You were always drawing. Well, it looks like it's paid off. Congratulations." Justin smiled and shook her hand.

"If only it were paying a little more," he said wryly.

"Oh, don't worry; I fully intend to buy at least one piece. Your work is incredible, really."

"They're not for sale," Brian piped up. Justin glared at him, but he seemed unfazed. After all, he lived to be difficult.

"Not all of them are for sale right now," he tried to explain.

"That's too bad," Lindsay said, oblivious to the silent conversation that was taking place right under her nose. "Which ones are for -”

"Yes, too bad indeed," Brian interjected, and began herding her out.

"Brian!" she chided, but she was so small that she was no match for him, and with one arm around her waist, he dragged her toward the gallery's exit.

"It would have gone perfectly with my other one," he tossed over his shoulder. And with that, the pair was gone, leaving Justin stunned speechless, his mouth flapping uselessly open and closed. He had always suspected that Brian had bought the drawing of himself, but to finally hear him admit it...

Justin set his jaw determinedly. He may have lost this battle, but he fully intended to win the war.


	2. Mind the Gap

After waiting for all of the patrons to clear out while offering pleasantly insincere goodbyes and promising his mother that he would leave soon and get to bed at a decent hour, Justin helped his agent clean up and close down, then finally found himself in the backseat of a taxicab bound for Allentown, which was in the exact opposite direction from the flat he shared with Trevor. But Max lived in Allentown, and Justin knew that he could wrangle an invitation to stay the night as well as some advice - no matter what time of the night, he was always welcome at Max's.

After paying the cabbie, Justin used his key to get in the front door and headed straight for the elevator, where he bypassed Max's fifth-floor apartment by hitting the button for the sixteenth floor. Getting off, he rounded the corner and took the final flight of stairs, until he finally found himself on the roof.

Max was over by the heating vent, her keyboard in front of her as her fingers danced over the keys. Even from this distance, Justin could tell that she was singing softly as she played, by the uneven exhalation of her breath, which frosted immediately upon leaving her mouth. Even in this cold, she still had on a light, flowery dress, albeit bundled over it were several coats, a long scarf, and fur-lined boots. Max always looked a bit disheveled, but that was just part of her charm.

"Hey," Justin greeted. Max looked over, startled, her long, tousled black curls spilling over her shoulders. She smiled upon seeing him, and Justin felt the tension drain from his body. He'd known Max for a few years, and had quickly learned that this was the effect she had on everybody - she made you relax, take things in stride.

"Hey," she returned, as Justin made his way over to her. His fingers were playing with one end of his tie, which was swinging free from the unbuttoned collar of his now-rumpled dress shirt. "A little late, isn't it?" she teased.

"Like you ever sleep," Justin shot back. Max just smiled. She had, without a doubt, the most unusual sleeping patterns of anyone Justin had ever known - she never slept a full night, but rather in short naps whenever she was getting a bit sleepy. He'd never pretended to understand it - Max just had quirks, like everyone else. 

Her fingers found the keys again, and she resumed playing. Sometimes, Justin wasn't sure if she even realized she was doing it. He sighed, knowing that Max wasn't going to drag the problem out of him - if he wanted help, he had to ask.

"Do you remember your first love?" he finally asked. A fond smile passed across Max's face, and the tune she was playing switched to something soft and romantic that Justin vaguely recognized.

"It was my freshman year in college," Max was saying. "My roommate had a boyfriend in another dorm, so she was rarely in the room. There was this girl Lydia, who lived across the hall - she would always come over and keep me company. 'Pretty girl like you shouldn't be sitting in her room all alone,' she'd say. I'd play her songs on the piano, she'd try to teach me how to knit, we'd watch movies together...we were inseparable. And then one day, it happened. Seemed like the most natural thing in the world."

"What happened?" Justin posed the question softly, not wanting to break the spell of her voice.

"Life happened," Max replied. It was then that Justin recognized the tune she was playing. Ethan had played it for him on his violin - "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring," it was called. But by the time he could put a name to it, Max's playing had changed tune completely, and it wasn't as much as song as it was a repetition of clashing chords.

"Her parents were a lot like yours," she continued. "I always suspected that her preference for females came from a desperate need to rebel, but I was so lovestruck that I never said anything. But eventually, I got tired of always being referred to as her 'friend', and I pressured her to tell them. But she wouldn't. She cried about how hard it was, I said okay. Then it got the better of us and we broke up. And got back together the next week. It was all very dramatic. We did the on-again, off-again thing for awhile. Then I was at her house one year for Easter and her parents caught us in bed. We never talked about it. The next break was summer, and we didn't see each other at all. When we moved back the next year, she was gone. I never saw her again. But I was told by a friend that her parents pulled her out. They didn't want her near the influence of 'that Jewish girl with no mother and father to guide her.'"

She stopped playing abruptly, her hands leaving the keyboard to twist in her lap, playing with the heavy silver rings that adorned her tiny, delicate fingers.

"Oh, Max," Justin murmured. But Max waved a hand at him, jewelry flashing in the moonlight as she shot him a dazzling smile.

"Life moves on," she said. "People move on."

"Sometimes," Justin murmured. Sighing, he took a seat to the left of Max's keyboard. He put his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Maybe he had had one too many glasses at the gallery after all. Max reached down with one hand to stroke his hair, the other creating a light, plinking melody on the keyboard. Heaving a sigh, Justin flopped backwards, staring up at the sky.

"What do you do when life doesn't move on?" he pondered. "When you don't move on?"

"You do what you always do," Max answered simply. "You figure out what you want and you go for it."

"But what if this is totally not what I should want?" Justin countered. "He was the first person to ever make me feel loved. What if that's the only reason I still want him?"

"Then I'd say that's a damn good reason.

~*~

Justin pushed open the door to his flat and threw his keys onto the kitchen table as he closed it behind him. The place really was a shithole - peeling paint, rusting fixtures, moldy tiles in the bathroom...it was enough to drive a neat freak like Kyle crazy. He'd been over a few times, back when Daphne had been living there, but he always ended up making faces and threatening to clean things. Justin still didn't know how he was going on a year and a half living with a slob like Daph without them killing each other. Meanwhile, he had grown attached to the shithole, even though with his current net worth he could have afforded something much nicer.

But money had never been a big deal to Justin, even growing up with it, and in his eyes it was just a fluke that he had it now. So he'd put out an ad, and three weeks later Trevor had answered. Trevor was practically an exact opposite of Justin - he was straight, large and muscular, and extremely outgoing. Despite what seemed like a recipe for disaster from the beginning, the two became fast friends. Trevor wasn't the least bit homophobic, and Justin found that he didn't even mind the steady stream of women coming to and from the house.

Last week, Trevor had finally gotten fired from his construction job. It had been a long time coming, but neither of them was surprised when it finally did, considering he rarely showed up. Since then, he had been spending most of his time lounging in front of the TV with a beer in one hand and the X-Box controller in the other. So Justin was surprised not to spot his prone form sprawled out on the sofa immediately upon entering the room.

"Trev?" he called. No answer. Justin peeked in the bathroom and both bedrooms, but there was still no sign of his roommate. Shrugging, he made his way to the kitchen and found a note taped to the refrigerator. Trevor was at a job interview, and Mark, his agent, had called. Justin grabbed the phone and hit number five on the speed dial. Tucking the receiver under his ear, he rummaged around in the fridge while it rang.

"Hello?" Mark's brougish Scottish accent answered.

"It's Justin." He grunted as he discovered a container of day-old putanesca and popped it in the microwave, then sifted through the silverware drawer for a fork.

"I put all of the paintings from last night into storage like you wanted," Mark informed him. "Except the ones you wanted me to leave. They're still there. You'd better get them out of there today, though - Alex Boudvierre is having a show tomorrow night, and you never know what he may do with them." Justin paused, his fork halfway to his mouth with the first bite.

"I asked you to leave some?" he asked. Mark chuckled.

"How many glasses of champagne *did* you have last night?" he asked. Justin made an unintelligible noise.

"I lost count," he admitted. "Look, I'll come and get them in a bit."

"Sure. Oh, and great job last night. There was a woman - Lindsay Penderson? Patterson?"

"Peterson."

"Right. Loved it. Said she'd love to buy if you were interested. You need her number, or do you know her?"

"I can get ahold of it myself."

"Allright, then. Great work as always, kid."

"Thanks, Mark. I'll see you on Wednesday, to talk about the Ackerman opening?"

"Wednesday it is."

Justin tossed the phone aside and shoveled the rest of the pasta into his mouth. In a few short minutes, he had emptied the container, and he still couldn't remember asking Mark to set any paintings aside. Sighing, he threw the dirty dishes in the sink and headed for a much-needed shower.

~*~

The gallery was closed on Sundays, but Justin was able to sweet-talk a janitor into letting him in so that he didn't have to drive all the way over to Mark's to get the keys. Climbing the three flights of stairs to the top floor where his show had been held, he flipped on a light to find the place completely cleared out. Except for the collection of paintings still hanging in the back corner.

"Crap," he muttered. After the less-than-enthusiastic response to them last night, he knew he'd never show them all together again. But what on earth was he going to do with them? He had a studio in the city, but it was already stuffed to the gills. With a sigh, Justin began dismounting the paintings from the wall and stacking them in the corner. He worked hard and fast, and finally there was only one left, in the upper left-hand corner; the first painting. Brian's painting. Justin took it down and dropped to the ground, setting the painting in front of him and just looking.

Had there ever been anything real between him and Brian, or was it just sexual? Had time really changed anything? Was there a chance for a future for them, or was he just clinging onto romanticized visions of the past?

There was only one way to tell.

~*~

Once he got behind the wheel, with the painting sitting in the passenger's seat next to him and the others piled in the back, finding Brian's loft proved to be no problem. Justin navigated the streets from memory, not making one wrong turn before arriving in front of the dilapidated building that gave new meaning to the words: "Don't judge a book by its cover." He let the engine idle for a moment before finally shutting it off, grabbing the painting and exiting the car. Before he let himself change his mind, he crossed the street and walked through the door.

The place looked exactly the same, from the brown shag carpet in the lobby to the rickety old elevator that brought him to Brian's battered steel door. Taking a breath, Justin lifted his fist and pounded.

Muttered curses could be heard, muffled by the thickness of the door, and finally, Brian appeared. He looked as good if not better than he had last night, dressed in his classic black wife-beater and jeans. Justin glanced down at his own khakis and PIFA t-shirt and felt like a little kid standing next to a god. Brian clearly thought otherwise, because Justin felt his eyes sweep slowly up and down his body, hot as a physical caress.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped. Justin held up the painting.

"Changed my mind," he murmured. "I want you to have it." Brian nodded curtly, and produced a leather wallet from his back pocket.

"How much?" he asked, flipping open the billfold. Justin shook his head, and placed a hand on top of Brian's to stop him.

"Nothing. It's a gift." He smirked. "Wouldn't want the other one to get lonely."

Brian quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at the hand that Justin still hadn't removed. "Are you back to stalking me again?" he asked.

"Maybe." Justin flashed his biggest, brightest smile. Sure enough, Brian caved. He could tell by the way the muscles in his shoulders relaxed. Justin handed him the painting, smile still plastered on.

"I'll be seeing you," he promised.


	3. Mind the Gap

It had been six years since Justin had set foot on Liberty Avenue. After his blowout with Brian so long ago, he had essentially avoided the place. Despite how bleak the world had seemed at seventeen, he had found other places to meet guys - other bars, other clubs. But Liberty Avenue would always hold a special place in his heart. After all, there was only one Babylon.

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, there was a seat being saved for him in the diner, and if he didn't claim it, it was likely to be stolen by a tranny with a bad dye job and an even worse attitude. So for the first time in six years, he pushed open the door, hearing the familiar jingle of the bell above the entrance. Sure enough, there was Debbie at the register. She looked up at the sound of the bell, and her face lit up.

"Sunshine!" she shrieked. Slamming the drawer closed, she rounded the corner, rushing towards the blonde and enfolding him in a bone-crushing hug. Justin could do little more than pat her on the back and pray that he would be able to breathe again. Finally, she released him, pushing him away slightly so that she could get a good look at him.

"You look gorgeous!" she exclaimed. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Justin let his gaze slide over to Brian, sitting in an empty booth, as Deb chuckled to herself. She followed his eyes, however, and rolled her own. "Of course." She waved him over, after warning him: "Don't be a stranger." He nodded, squeezing her arm.

"I'll visit," he promised. Finally, he slid in across from Brian. "Hey," he greeted. Brian nodded in response. "God, it's been forever since I've been in here," he continued. "Do they still have those amazing lemon bars?" Brian quirked an eyebrow.

"It's seven-thirty in the morning," he informed.

"I'm aware," Justin returned. "Besides - aren't you not supposed to criticize your date's choice in food?" he teased.

"This is *not* a date," Brian interjected. Where six years ago, the younger man would have turned this into an argument, this time he simply laughed.

"Are you seriously still trying to pull that 'I don't do boyfriends' crap?" he exclaimed. "Brian, you're thirty-five. Hasn't that gotten a bit old?"

"Oh, that'll earn you points," a voice from behind Justin chimed in. "Remind him of his age." With a pat on Brian's head, Emmett dropped into the booth beside him. Like Debbie, he smiled widely upon recognizing Justin. "How are you, baby?!" he exclaimed. "My god, I haven't seen you in years. What on earth have you been up to?"

"You know, the usual," Justin answered, feeling a smile come to his face. He'd always liked Emmett. "Graduated high school, graduated college, talked some very gullible people into buying my art."

"Graduated from school? My, how fast they grow." Brian dabbed at an imaginary tear as Justin glared. Emmett, however, simply turned to the brunette and instructed:

"Shut up." And, to Justin's amazement, he did. 

"Well, I think that's fabulous," Emmett continued. "You're doing what you love. And you look fantastic! Any boy toys back at home?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Justin laugh.

"No, not really," he admitted. "I've been -”

"Stalking me again," Brian interrupted. Emmett sighed.

"What did I tell you about shutting up?" he admonished. "The conversation is still valid even if it isn't revolving around you." Justin could tell from Brian's sneer that he was planning some sort of nasty response. Luckily, they were interrupted by Debbie bustling over, Brian's coffee and Justin's lemon bars in hand. In front of Emmett, she sat down a coffee and a muffin. She poked him in the arm, pointing at the clock.

"Shouldn't you be leaving about now?" she asked. Emmett checked the time against his watch. 

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed. Balancing his food in one hand, he used the other to dig through his pocket for a few dollars to cover his portion of the bill. Justin watched in amazement, however, as Brian waved him along, assuring him:

"I've got it."

"You're sure?" Em questioned. Brian nodded.

"Go," he insisted. With a look of relief," Emmett dropped a kiss on his cheek and dashed off.

"I owe 'ya one," he called out over his shoulder as he was halfway out the door. Justin stared in awe.

"Damn right you do," Brian muttered. Feeling Justin's eyes on him, he looked up. "What?" he said self-consciously.

"Are you and Emmett...?” Justin trailed off, unable to put the thought into words. Brian sighed.

"When you get older, you will be introduced to the miracles of E," he answered. Justin rolled his eyes, but let him continue. "And you will also discover the very, very stupid things - and people - that you do while under its influences." After a moment of silence, Justin burst out laughing. Brian watched him, calmly sipping his coffee.

"Oh, I wish I could've seen that," Justin finally managed out.

"Yeah, I'll bet you do,” Brian retorted. The blonde rolled his eyes.

"It's always about sex with you, isn't it?" he questioned. Brian glanced down at his watch. Standing, he threw a twenty onto the table.

"Of course it is," he answered, slipping on his suit jacket and grabbing his briefcase. "See you later." And with that, he was gone. Justin gaped at the uneaten lemon bars in front of him. It wasn't as if he had been expecting a proclamation of love or anything - but would something a little less casual than "See you later" be too much to ask? As if on cue, Justin felt Deb's hand patting his shoulder.

"No hot date tonight?" she asked. Justin scoffed. 

"No, not exactly," he said. He looked up.

"Would you settle for a date with me?" Deb said. Justin smiled fondly.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be," he promised.

~*~

Unlike the diner, which had been comforting and familiar, Deb's house was barely recognizable. The fact that Vic wasn't lounging about in his robe, for one, brought a tear to Justin's eye. He had passed away just over two years earlier - but, as Deb was so quick to point out, he had far surpassed anyone's expectations. There was pride in her voice when she spoke of him, and Justin knew that if he had been in the same situation, he wouldn't be dealing with it nearly as well.

Emmett had come to live with Deb after Vic had passed, after he had sold his apartment as capital to start the party planning business he'd always dreamed of, roping in favors left and right. Of course, it was only a few weeks before he had declared that he was redecorating whether Deb liked it or not. In his sweet, charming way he had talked her into coming on-board, and the finished product was something that both of them were quite pleased with.

Emmett did eventually buy a new apartment and move out, but not before making Deb and her cooking expertise a partner in the company. Around this time, she had met Carl Horvath, a detective with the Pittsburgh Police Department, and not long after, he had moved in. Debbie was doing better than ever, and the apartment reflected it. With the finishing touches Carl had made, it was a warm, friendly environment. Carl himself was equally warm and friendly, and Justin took an instant liking to him as he served the pair their meal in a pink flowered apron of Deb's, peppering her with kisses as his hearty laughter filled the room.

"You've never looked happier," Justin confided. Debbie blushed prettily, and Carl's hand slid across the table to cover hers.

"I'd like to think that I had something to do with that," he said with a smile.

"Keep dreaming, sweetie," Deb teased. Chuckling, Carl turned back to Justin, who was making his way through his third plate of baked ziti.

"Now, I know you two know each other," he said. "I'm afraid I don't know much more than that. Deb says she hasn't seen you in six years?" Justin swallowed a large mouthful, washing it down with a sip of wine.

"Long story short, I tried to run away from home," he said. "Deb took me in for a little while, until I finally came to my senses and moved back home. After that, I had a fight with someone who's on Liberty Avenue a lot, so I sort of avoided the area."

"Are you back for good this time?" Debbie wanted to know. Justin hesitated.

"I think so," he finally said. Just then, there was a knock at the front door.

"Anyone home?" Brian called. Justin's head jerked up immediately.

"Back here!" Deb called. Sure enough, there came Brian sauntering into the kitchen in a black T-shirt, leather jacket, and an obscenely tight pair of blue jeans. Justin's heart flip-flopped. "Hey, honey," Deb greeted. "Why aren't you at Babylon?"

"I'm working tonight," Brian said, glancing over at Justin as he plucked a grape from the bowl in the center of the table. "Mikey never gave me the latest storyboard for 'Rage', and I need the layout for the new promo done by Wednesday."

"Oh, he dropped those off this morning," Carl said. "He left them up in his room."

"Finally," Brian muttered, and turned towards the stairs.

"Hold it!" Deb demanded. Slowly, Brian turned back around, sheepish smile in place. "You haven't been to dinner in weeks. Sit down and have some dessert with us."

"Deb, I really have to work," he wheedled. "Maybe next week?" To Justin, he looked just like Michael in that instant. Debbie wasn't buying it, however.

"You can take twenty minutes out of your busy schedule to eat a piece of rhubarb pie. And I'd better not hear any of that 'no carbs after seven' shit either." Wisely, Brian snapped his mouth shut as Debbie cleared a place at the table for the pie. Defeated, he dropped into the empty seat next to Justin, purposely slinging an arm across the back of the blonde's chair and letting his fingers periodically graze his shoulders.

"So how'd she talk you into this?" he asked.

"She didn't talk me into anything," Justin retorted with a grin. "I came willingly."

"That's right," Deb declared, slapping an extra-large dollop of whipped cream on top of his slice of pie. "He's the good kid."

"The good kid?!" Brian exclaimed. "Who bought you a brand new DVD player and the entire Lana Turner collection for Christmas last year?"

"Oh, hold on a second," Justin said. Reaching over, he wiped at Brian's nose. Brian swatted his hand away. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," Justin apologized. "You had something brown..." Debbie and Carl laughed raucously, and Brian pinched Justin's nipple in retaliation.

"You'd better watch out, Sunshine," he warned, leaning in a fraction of an inch. Justin shivered.

"Or what?" he taunted.

"You don't want to know."

"Maybe I do." Their faces were quite close now, and Brian's fingers gripped Justin's shoulder tightly. Neither of them really knew what they were talking about anymore, yet neither of them was willing to be the first to back down. Finally an exasperated Deb waved a napkin at them. The pair broke apart.

"Save it for the bedroom," she instructed. 

All four of them ate their pie in silence.

~*~

Justin hadn't smoked a joint in over two months - since he and Kyle had gotten extremely high and gorged themselves on the plate of fudge Daphne had made earlier that morning. The stomachache and subsequent extremely painful bowel movements he'd had all the next day had made him swear off the stuff. But now, as he loaded the last cup into the dishwasher and Deb and Carl cuddled on the couch, the unmistakable sickly sweet odor wafted towards his nostrils from outside. Justin smiled to himself - Brian. The craving sensation hit him full-force; so hard it was nearly a physical ache, though whether it was for Brian or for the weed was unclear. Nevertheless, he turned the knob on the dishwasher, its loud humming and whirring covering the squeak of the old screen door as he slipped outside.

Sure enough, Brian was lounging on the porch steps, leaning against the railing as he took a long drag off the joint in his hand. His eyes cut over to Justin, and he held the joint out, offering it to him. Justin took an even longer drag, closing his eyes to savor it as he propped himself up against a support beam and passed it back. Brian took two quick hits and passed it back again, gazing up at Justin as he sucked in the smoke.

"You can sit, you know," he said. Justin smirked as they continued trading the joint back and forth. 

"Said the spider to the fly," the younger man retorted. Still, he slid down to sit next to Brian.

"I don't bite," he promised. "Well, until I get you into bed, that is. Then all bets are off."

"Like you could," Justin scoffed, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. Pot always brought out one of his worst habits - talking before thinking.

"I believe I already have," Brian drawled. "As for now...I could have had you if I'd wanted to."

Justin had to admit that that was indeed true. Despite all the time that had passed and all the bravado he liked to put on, Brian still wielded the power. But this time, he wasn't abusing it, and that's why Justin knew that things were different. Also, he was ready to call him on his bullshit instead of silently letting it go.

"So why haven't you?" he challenged. Brian remained silent, snatching back the joint to steal the last hit. Laughing, Justin steered the conversation elsewhere. "So are you still at Ryder?" he asked.

"Vanguard, actually. Marty sold the company. Turned out to be the best thing that's ever happened to me - new boss made me partner a few years ago."

"Congrats." There was a beat of comfortable silence, broken by Debbie's appearance at the door.

"Brian, I thought you had work to do," she admonished. "Carl already put the boards in your car, so get on home and do something productive."

"I'll be just as brilliant tomorrow," Brian retorted, standing. He looked directly at Justin. "You like pool?" he asked. The blonde blinked in confusion.

"Yeah, but I suck at it," he answered. 

"Ted's signed up for a tournament at Woody’s on Friday. Starts at seven. We'll save a stool."

He was halfway down the street before Justin realized that he'd never actually agreed to come.


	4. Mind the Gap

Like Deb's, Woody's was comfortably familiar. It was fare more crowded than it had ever been, but Justin attributed that to the tournament. Almost as soon as he stepped through the door, he spotted Ted. Or, rather, he spotted Emmett with his arm around Ted's shoulders; his neon-pink scarf was hard to miss. Smiling, Justin made his way over to the pair. Before he reached them, however, a short, dark-headed man stepped directly in his path.

"Sorry!" Justin exclaimed as he bumped into him, sending the pitcher of beer in his hands sloshing about, a few drops landing on the floor. Justin looked up, ready to apologize again, when he finally saw exactly who he had bumped into. Michael. He groaned inwardly. He had been hoping to postpone this particular reunion until...well, preferably never. Michael had never been fond of him, and had never made a secret of those feelings. But Justin should have known he would be here tonight. Taking a deep breath, he smiled tightly.

"Hi, Michael," he greeted. Michael frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"It's been awhile," the blonde admitted. "I'm Justin Taylor." Michael's eyes widened, but to his credit, he didn't say anything; though Justin was pretty sure he wanted to. Instead, he looked the younger man up and down, as if assessing him.

"You're back," he stated simply. Justin nodded, dreading the next, inevitable question. "For how long?" Sighing, he decided that honesty was the best route in this case.

"For as long as Brian will have me," he said. The brunette's eyes narrowed slightly, but still he held his tongue, and left Justin with the thought that maybe he had grown up after all. He extended a hand.

"Glad to have you back," he said. Nodding, Justin took Michael's outstretched hand, and they shook. There was a beat of comfortable silence before Justin finally asked:

"So how's Ted doing?"

"Pretty good, last I checked. I think he's supposed to start another game in a few minutes. You coming over to the table?" 

"Lead the way." Upon their arrival, Ted and Emmett greeted them enthusiastically. Justin smiled and accepted their hugs and kisses while Michael made his way over to a beefy brunette that was sitting with them and plopped onto his lap as the pair shared a kiss. A boyfriend, Justin assumed. The mystery man looked up, eyes sparkling a deep emerald behind the delicate gold frames of his glasses.

"I don't think we've met. I'm Ben." Ben held out his hand, just as his boyfriend had a few minutes earlier. His smile was warm, his demeanor friendly, and his handshake firm, and Justin liked him already.

"Justin," he returned. Beside him, Emmett handed him a mug, and Ted began pouring the drinks, moving in perfect sync with each other. They teased and bantered the whole time, shoving each other and giggling like schoolgirls. Apparently, some things never changed. Ben chuckled watching them.

"So where do you know these clowns from?" he asked Justin. The blonde hesitated.

"He's an old friend of Brian's," Michael supplied. Ben smiled knowingly.

"Friend?" he repeated. "Brian has friends?"

"Apparently, not as many as I thought," came a voice from behind, and an arm slung itself across Justin's chest. Unable to help himself, he grinned broadly. Oh, this was bad. He was loosing control already. Luckily, Brian couldn't see him, and he managed a nonchalant look when he tilted his head back to greet him.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Brian returned, and Justin was suddenly made aware of just how close their faces were. Yes, this was bad. However, he offered a smile and turned back to the others without incident. Ted was starting his next game, so the whole group migrated over to cheer him on.

He was good - better than Justin would have expected. Then again, he was pretty sure that most people underestimated Ted. Nevertheless, he was holding his own in this tournament. Looking at the handwritten chart tacked up on the wall, Justin discovered that if Ted won this game, he only had to win three more if he wanted to win the whole tournament. And win this game he did, sinking the 8-ball with three of his opponent's balls still on the table. Said opponent, a leather-clad bear with biceps the size of Justin's thigh, accepted defeat gracefully, shaking Ted's hand with a smile. Ted shook back, the picture of courtesy and modesty. When he returned to the table, he was beaming.

"I am so proud of you, baby!" Emmett exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek. 

"All I did was play a game of pool," Ted reminded. Emmett rolled his eyes.

"You were great," Justin interjected. Michael and Ben concurred. Even Brian had to admit:

"You did okay." Ted laughed.

"Coming from you, that's high compliment," he said, downing his mug. "Next round's on me."

The pitcher remained full all night as the six men took turns buying refills. Michael and Ben were sickeningly cute, Ted won his next game, then lost the one after that to a dark-headed twink, and Emmett kept them all entertained with his impressions. Justin was having the time of his life. He loved his own friends dearly, but he had almost forgotten how much fun these guys could be. Smiling to himself, he polished off the last swallow of his seventh beer...or had that been his eighth? He had lost count by now.

"Sunshine, we need your help," Brian called from across the room. Clearly, he had had a few too many as well, if he was resorting back to Debbie's silly nickname. Even so, Justin strolled over to the table he and Michael had claimed. Ben was resting on a nearby stool, watching the game in progress. Ted and Emmett, meanwhile, had produced a deck of cards from the pocket of Ted's coat, and were in the middle of a heated game of spades in a corner table, which Justin had been observing up until now.

"What's up?" he asked. Brian grabbed him around the waist.

"Last shot," he informed. "I need a good luck charm." His expression was so serious when he said this that Justin couldn't help but chuckle.

"You don't need any more luck," he assured. It was true - Brian was the luckiest person he had ever known.

"Couldn't hurt," the brunette insisted, handing him the cue. Justin stared at it.

"I told you I suck at pool," he protested.

"You'll be fine." It was clear that Brian wasn't going to back down, and Michael was getting restless. With a sigh, Justin tool the cue, circling the table to find the best angle to shoot from. When he thought he had found the right one, he bent down, aiming the cue at the 8-ball. He pulled back, and was about to hit when a pair of arms enfolded him from behind.

"You do suck," Brian murmured in his ear, hands rearranging Justin's own.

"Told you so," he retorted.

"You'll do fine." Justin wasn't so sure about that anymore; not with the way Brian's entire body was pressed against his own, warm breath caressing his neck. He let the older man set up the shot, his eyes drifting closed at the brush of callused fingers against his skin. "Ready?" His eyes snapped open.

"Ready." Together, they drew back, surged forward, and connected. The ball shot forward, ricocheting off two of the sides before rolling directly into the pocket. Justin straightened, turning around in Brian's embrace to face him, and the pair shared a victory grin.

"We make a good team," Brian said. He almost sounded surprised...but not really.

"We do," Justin agreed. His grin faded, however, when Brian took a step forward, cornering him against the pool table, their erections straining against one another. A strangled gasp escaped his throat.

"You wanna come back to the loft?" Brian asked, nuzzling Justin's throat. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was temporary insanity, but Justin found himself nodding in agreement. Wasting no time, Brian called a quick "Bye, Mikey" over his shoulder and hustled the blonde towards the door, pausing only to grab their coats.

Out on the street, Brian hailed a cab, and they huddled together in the corner of the small, dark backseat for the fifteen minute drive. Somehow during that time, Brian's mouth found Justin's neck, and he was positive that he was going to have a hickey there tomorrow, but right now he could care less, and he clutched him closer, urging him on.

There was a brief scuffle over who was going to pay the fare, but in the end Brian simply handed the driver a twenty and told him to keep the change, shoving Justin towards the door. They leaned against one another in silence as the elevator rose to the top floor. Justin exited first.

"Code's still the same," Brian muttered. Without comment, Justin tapped out the seven digits that were still branded onto his brain into the electronic keypad, and slid the door open.

Apparently, the code was about the only thing that was the same as it had been six years ago. There were rugs and plush carpeting covering the hardwood floors, and heavier curtains covering the windows that actually blocked out the sun. The couch was bigger, softer, and less expensive-looking. There were even a few of Gus' stray toys lying around.

"I'm impressed," Justin said. Brian brushed past him, heading up the stairs into the bedroom.

"I'm tired," he replied. He stumbled on the top step, and paused to kick off his shoes before flopping down onto the bed. Justin followed him, freezing when the whole room came into view.

"Wow." It was like stepping into another dimension. The walls had been painted white, the previously blue lights mounted above the bed replaced by a row of orange bulbs encased in glass. The sheets were a pale, pale blue, the comforter a rich, vibrant sapphire. The bed was raised high off the floor, and there was a smaller one underneath that could be pulled out for Gus. But what struck Justin the most were the two framed pictures above the glass light box. His painting from the show last week, topped by the drawing from six years ago. The one he had always known the older man had bought.

"Brian..." Words were lost on him. What did he say to something like this? He took a step forward, and Brian reached out, lacing their fingers together. Grasping tightly, he pulled the younger man even closer.

"Stay here tonight."

Justin's heart skipped a beat. Brian was unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, and his legs were spread wantonly, giving full view of the bulge in between them. The worst, however, were his eyes. They were wide and dark and pleading in ways that Justin was sure had never been directed toward him before. Brian squeezed his hand, and he felt his resolve crumbling, because truthfully, deep down he wanted nothing more than to strip down and crawl in that bed with him. But they were both drunk and tired, and he didn't want to do anything stupid. Trite as it sounded, he didn't want to ruin things between them with sex. They had a real shot here - and that wasn't something he was willing to give up. Not even for Brian Kinney's cock.

"On the couch," he agreed. Brian frowned.

"I don't wanna sleep on the couch," he said. Justin smiled.

"*Alone* on the couch," he corrected. He tried to pull his hand away, but Brian was having none of that.

"Stay," he begged. That was definitely the alcohol talking, because Brian Kinney never begged for anything. And that just cemented Justin's decision. Smiling fondly, he raised their joined hands to press a kiss to the older man's knuckles, running the free hand through his hair and cupping his cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he promised. Brian mock-pouted, and Justin chuckled, but finally they let go, and he made his way back into the main room, stripping down to his boxers and getting settled on the couch. Sleep came hard and fast as soon as he shut his eyes, and just as he was about gone, he heard Brian's voice call:

"Goodnight, Justin." He smiled.

"Goodnight, Brian."

~*~

Brian awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. He winced at the dull throbbing in his head, but years of hangovers had taught him to just ignore it, and that's what he did as he climbed out of bed to find Justin standing in his kitchen. A plate of bacon and eggs, a pot of coffee, and two glasses of orange juice sat on the table.

"You didn't have to do all this, you know," he said.

"I know," Justin replied, loading a skillet into the dishwasher. Brian eyed the greasy bacon warily.

"Especially since I'm not eating that shit," he added.

"You're eating it."

"Fuck you."

"You sure wanted to last night. Look how well that turned out." It was a cheap shot and he knew it. Scowling, Brian retreated to the bedroom. A few moments later Justin heard the shower turn on. He finished cleaning up the kitchen, and when Brian emerged all showered and changed, he sat down at the table and took a bite out of a piece of bacon without comment. Justin brought over plates and forks and dropped into the seat across from him.

The entire meal was conducted in silence, and although Justin did most of the eating, Brian made an effort to put at least some real food in his stomach.

"Where'd you get this shit anyway?" he finally asked. Justin shrugged.

"Supermarket down the street. I walked down there this morning." Nodding, Brian finished his last bite and set his fork down.

"I may just have to keep you around after all," he joked. Justin fell quiet. He toyed with his coffee mug for a few seconds, then stood and began clearing the empty plates from the table.

"Justin, leave those," Brian insisted. "Justin..." He followed him to the sink and laid a hand on his arm. "Talk to me."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Don't give me that." Justin took a deep breath before he turned to face Brian, looking him right in the eye.

"I won't be just another trick," he stated. Brian's expression was unreadable.

"You never were," he returned. The blonde rose an eyebrow. "Allright, maybe the first time," he amended. "But not the second time, and not any time after that. You came with me because I wanted you there, and you wanted to be there."

"I was seventeen," Justin countered. "I would have taken sex any way I could have gotten it." 

"You were in love with me."

"You were in love with yourself." Brian looked away. "Look, I'm not blaming you for anything, I'm just saying that this time it has to be more than that."

"This time?" Brian repeated. Justin took a step forward. This was it - either they were going to start something for real, or Brian was going to run scared. He really wished he had even the slightest inkling as to which way it was going to go, but with Brian you never knew.

"We had something last time, but neither of us were ready for it. But we're different people now, Bri. At least I am. And I can't sit back and let you play with my head anymore. I'm not asking for hearts and flowers, I'm not asking for monogamy - I'm just asking for a chance. So that maybe we can get it right this time. If you can't promise me that much...then I'm not going to waste my time."

Six years ago, they never would have had this conversation. But back then, Brian had been the center of his universe, and he would have blindly followed him off of a cliff if he had asked. He had been naive and stupid, but he wouldn't have traded their time together for anything. Brian had taught him so much about being a man, about standing up for himself. He had carried those things with him ever since, but also the things that he had figured out on his own - that if you didn't open the door, no one could ever come in. Brian had always been commitment-phobic. And Justin didn't want to change him, but if he wasn't ever going to grow up, it was the end of the road for them. There was nowhere left to go. It would be hard, and it would be painful, but he knew that he could walk away. He had the drive, the strength. Brian had given it to him.

The older man looked down, and suddenly Justin wasn't seventeen anymore. He wasn't a kid, he wasn't a convenient fuck. He was a man. And all he was asking for was what he deserved.

Brian had never been in love. Despite all protests, however, he had indeed loved people. Michael, Debbie, Vic, Lindsay...sometimes, even Ted and Emmett. But to be *in* love...that was something else entirely. And with Justin's wide, bright blue eyes gazing up at him, he knew that there was only one person that could ever fill that role. Justin was his equal in every way; he challenged him, kept him honest. Deb saw it, Lindsay saw it...he was a better person when he was with Justin. Maybe it was time to admit that.

Seeing the change in the other man's face, Justin smiled. "You in?" he asked. Leaning forward, Brian pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the large patch of purple on his neck.

"I'm in."


End file.
